


A Twisted World

by belgravianhellhound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventures, Age-Up Hermione, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake Relationship, I think - I haven't written the darn ending yet, Mutual Pining, Whump, age-up characters, canon compliant until Goblet of Fire, neither of them think they deserve each other, warning: major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 13:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgravianhellhound/pseuds/belgravianhellhound
Summary: When Harry Potter disappears from the Wizarding World, the Potions Master who hides a heart and the shy, bookworm, closet musician with a secret must combine uncomfortable forces to find the Boy Who Lived... A story of old-magic, students-turned-spies, and love neither of them thinks they deserve.





	1. Weary, Horrified, Weak

He didn't want this life, not any more.

Harry Potter was done. He wanted to give up his life as the almighty Boy Who Lived. He hated being anything but a normal teenage boy. He hated what he had done.

"Mr Potter, Professor Dumbledore needs to speak to you in the infirmary. I suggest Miss Granger goes with you. Prepare yourselves, please," Professor McGonagall lilted, her face grave and eyes tight. They hurried to the hospital wing, anxious to know who was bedridden, anxious to know what Dumbledore needed. Harry had a feeling in his gut; it was a friend.

As they arrived in the infirmary Harry faltered. Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the room but there was no twinkle in his eye, no laugh lines on his timeless face. He absently noticed the curtains drawn around one of the beds.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted solemnly. "I must ask you to prepare yourself for whosoever lies behind the curtain. He is... fatally injured. Madam Pomfrey estimates he will not last the night, but Professor Snape is to ascertain this for us shortly." Harry pushed past the headmaster and wrenched back the curtains; Ron.

"Oh God, Ron!" He cried, gazing upon the unconscious boy lying in the bed. His hair was matted and his face maimed and covered blood in various stages of clotting from cuts on his face. He was feverish, shuddering in his sleep. Hermione screamed when she saw the state of her best friend, losing the strength to stand. It was only the sudden appearance of the Potions Master that saved her from hitting the stone floor and causing young Potter to have two friends in beds. Snape lowered her into the chair by Weasley's bed. "Professor, what happened to him? Professor?" Harry turned desperately to the loathed teacher, and then to his headmaster.

"It seems young Mr Weasley has been poisoned by a Death Eater's magic. It seems to be the work of Bellatrix Lestrange; she had a penchant for these sort of curses," Snape drawled as he checked Ron's chart and his vitals. "Albus, may I speak to you alone?" Dumbledore nodded, and they moved to the other side of the room. "This is definitely Bellatrix's work, and the most severe kind. I'm afraid there is no antidote. Poppy's assumption was correct; he will not survive more than three hours." Dumbledore shook his head, and although Severus Snape let no emotion plague his voice, he was slightly saddened by the school's loss. Not that my potions class will suffer, he thought dryly.

"Harry, my boy, I am so dreadfully sorry. Madam Pomfrey was correct. You may want to say your goodbyes now." Dumbledore whispered softly as he rejoined the pair by the bed. It was a terrible time for the two of them, and although he wanted to lend support the wizened headmaster felt it best to leave them be. "Come, Severus, it may be time to have a talk."

"H-Harry?" Ron rasped, his eyes fluttering open. Harry knew he was fighting the effects of a very strong curse, and an even stronger sleeping draught.

"Ron! Hermione and I are here for you, don't you worry," he reassured desperately.

"I'm dying aren't I?" he wheezed. "Fred and George won't be happy about this; they'll have no one to tease," his attempt at humour just made Hermione cry harder, and he motioned them over. She sat on his bed, stroking his face.

"Ron, you can't do this to us! What were you thinking tackling Bellatrix like that?" She sobbed, tracing his features with her fingertips. They may have had many arguments over their seven years as friends but she loved him dearly, as much as she loved Harry. To see him there was heartbreaking for the both of them.

"She's dead, 'Mione, she's dead and not going to bother you anymore. I killed her and... Got the last horcrux. You can kill V-Voldemort now, Harry, and save the rest of them. Save Ginny, save Mum, hell save S-Snape if you can. Just save our world, Harry. You're my b-best f-friend and... y-you too 'Mione... I l-love you b-both so much... tell m-mum... not to w-worry?" He was getting weaker and his eyes were closing more and more frequently for longer periods of time.

"Tell her yourself, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as she strode in behind the distraught Molly.

"Ron! Oh Ron!" She screamed, throwing herself at the floor by his bed. It was hard enough for her to have lost the twins to the joke business and Charlie to Romania, now it was Ron to the next world, so much worse and so much more permanent. "Why were you so stupid? You... Oh..." Molly was incoherent, crying over her youngest son.

"Mum, d-don't worry about me, o-okay? D-don't grieve... I l-love y-you all..." With that statement, Ronald Bilius Weasley drew his last breath.

* * *

The sombre attitude of the bereaved permeated the whole castle, in particular the disused classroom that Hermione used as her music room. She had, with her more than capable transfiguration skills, made a piano out of a desk, the bench out of a chair, and was playing solemnly, tears streaming down her face. She let all her frustration and anger out on the keys, improvising the piece as she had once been taught back when everything was... normal. Back when she was a Muggle, when she knew nothing of magic, of the Dark Lord, of any of this. It was easier then, and for one selfish moment, she yearned to have it back. That moment passed quickly though; here in the Wizarding World she was in her element, Muggleborn or not, she was an excellent witch and one that far exceeded many of the expectations set by her peers.

* * *

Weary, horrified, weak, Severus Snape struggled through the halls of the school just hoping he could make it down to the dungeons before unconsciousness overtook him. He hated death eater meetings. They always left him drained, tired and completely disgusted with the Dark. That night they had done such dreadful things his mind was already blocking them out. As he struggled to the stairs leading to his chambers he heard, with great surprise, strains of melancholy music floating from the old Muggle Studies room. The Muggle Studies class had been relocated to near the Astronomy Tower so it was empty and disused. Severus felt a compulsion to find the source of the music, the sad but relaxing tunes helping to ease the tension of the evening. Luckily he wasn't called to the meetings all too often but when he did it was sickening; he just wished for the whole war to be over for good, so he could be in peace one way or another. He had a feeling he wouldn't survive much longer; good luck and quick wit could only last for so long. It was alright, though, he didn't have anyone to leave behind, no legacy to complete or expectations to fulfil. He could go, with an unmentioned act of sadistic heroism, not with a bang, but with a whimper. It would suit the old Potions Master very much.

As he drew closer to the source of the music he shed his Death Eater robes and peeked around the doorframe to see none other than the insufferable Miss Granger, playing a... piano? To the Potion Master's knowledge there were none such instruments in the castle, especially in a Muggle Studies classroom. Perhaps her theoretical knowledge on anything and everything managed to manifest in a transfigured piano. The Professor sagged against the frame and closed his eyes, letting the wonderful melody seep into his being and lessened the pain that rendered him close to death. He let it soften his mind and let him compartmentalise the part of him he most loathed but had to keep. He had no idea that Miss Granger's music would be so effective; normally it would take three or four calming draughts and two dreamless sleep potions before he could begin to fall into a restless slumber.

* * *

Hermione never realised, engrossed in the music as she was, that she had an audience. It was only when he let out a muffled groan of pain that she realised he was there, unable to stand any longer. He had, stupidly, used all his energy to listen to the beautiful sounds coming from beneath Miss Granger's fingertips, and suddenly couldn't stand for a second longer. With lightening reflexes Hermione shot over and caught the injured professor, lowering him carefully to the floor. It was with dry humour that he remembered not a week before it had been him saving her from hitting the floor, and he choked out a chuckle.

"Now, Miss Granger, I think we are even on the catching front," he whispered, exhausted and fully ready to just stay on this comfortable stone floor to sleep. Funny, he realised, I can never remember a meeting that afterwards I haven't needed several damnable potions to send me to oblivion. Hermione let out a breathless laugh, sitting next to her Potions teacher. It was odd, this situation, but she wasn't complaining; she had long since had a fascination in the man that sat before her. Now she was seeing a side of him she doubted many had seen; the man in between roles of Professor and Death Eater.

"What brings you to my lonely corner of the world, Professor?" She asked tenderly. He was sorely bruised and had a smattering of cuts decorating the skin visible. He looked repulsed with something as well... perhaps it was her? She pushed the thought aside when he began to answer.

"Order business..." He began to reply wearily when Hermione interrupted him.

"Don't 'Order business' me, Professor, you know as well as I do that Harry and I are now members of the Order and have every right to know what is going on. Now do you care to explain?"

"I really do not think that is the tone to take with your teacher, Miss Granger, 5 points from Gryffindor. You may be a member of the Order but here at school your status as student precedes any other status you may adopt. I do not appreciate your false concerns, nor do I know what absurdities led you to be vandalising school property," To Hermione's ears the insults would have been more hurtful were they not lacking their patronising tone and if it was not so obvious that he was struggling to bite out the words. However this was not a good subject for the unknowing man to have stumbled upon.

"I was here, professor," she stated coldly, respectful but icy at the same time. "To try to release some of the grief I have over the extremely recent death of my best friend. Harry is distraught about it and I have to remain strong for him so any form of release I can get I willingly take. I am allowed out of the dorms at this time because I have the privilege of being Head Girl, and for your information this is not vandalism as I can quite easily reverse the spell. Consider it, if you must, Transfiguration practice. I am putting my loss to good, practical use so I can stay strong for my only friend I have left. I asked you because I was concerned over your welfare as you have a worrying number of injuries and wanted to know what put you in such a terrible state of mind; terrible even for you. But forget I even asked Professor, I bid you goodnight." She stood up, transfigured the piano and stool back, and swept out of the room. Guilt wracked her body as she walked away from the man but she forced herself to keep walking, determined to prove a point. She was sure he would make it until morning, but she knew her rounds took her past the room once more, which she was glad for. When she went past the room, he was gone.

* * *

Snape was furious. How dare a student talk to him like that? No matter that it was one he saw more than most, but still, the lack of respect Granger had shown him was astounding. She had been hanging around Potter and Weasley too much. Weasley. What an interesting dilemma. Her voice had been full of pain when she had spoken of the late boy, leaving the Potions Master quite ashamed, not that he would ever admit it. Of course she had some intellectual way of coping with bereavement, unlike the imbecilic young girls she shared a year with. And the boys. It was evident in all manners of her life that had been exposed to the Professor that she was vastly emotionally mature and so would not sit crying on her bed with chocolate to relieve herself of the immense sadness but instead seek out a different, more productive method. It was, in hindsight, obvious she would in some shape or form incorporate school work into the procedure.

Still, Snape rendered himself emotionless and put his pain away in his head, reducing his state of mind to a dull ache, so he could rise. He unsteadily limped the rest of the way to his chambers, where he collapsed and gave in to the pure agony the nature of his life entailed.

He knew when Miss Granger passed the room on her rounds that it would calm her slightly to know he could move himself away. Even if it was this thought of making her less worried that enabled him to move.

Severus Snape did not know what to think of that.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not the pain of loss that made Harry distance himself from the world, it was Hermione. Her words, her smile, her attitude all changed one week after the event. It was as if her reaction to Ron's passing was delayed, but he knew better. He knew she grieved as much as he did at the wedding, but he also realised she tried to keep all of this hidden from him, to remain a pillar of strength for him to cling to. She was breaking inside, though. She was becoming depressed.

Hermione never considered herself a person easily affected by her peers' opinions, not any more. She had become comfortable in her own skin, with her own talents, but then, suddenly, one vague conversation with Severus Snape led to her whole composure slowly crumbling, stripping back years of maturity to reveal nothing more than a vulnerable little girl once more. She knew what was happening to her but couldn't stop the depression seeping in. She stopped paying attention in classes, she stopped making conversation with the other Gryffindorians. She still played her piano, still in the Muggle Studies room, but Severus Snape hadn't bothered her since that night. She never played jovial music anymore, she never ventured into the realm of romantic. All she could play was the funeral march played at Ron's funeral. Over and over, it was repeated until midnight, the solemn tune weaving its way into the inky black pits of her mind.

Potions was one lesson she refused to change in, though. To change in his lesson was to prove that he had managed to break her, and it would be a complete disaster to have Professor Snape know he had broken the Know It All Granger. She still put her hand up, still brewed perfect potions, still helped Neville and Harry. There had been one incident, though, when she had to run.

_"Once again, the instructions are on the board, you may begin, you have the hour, blah blah blah." Snape drawled, waving a wand at the board where the instructions, as always, appeared. Hermione gathered the ingredients, set up her cauldron, and was well on the way to finishing perfectly when she heard the Professor yell at Neville._

_"Must you be such a blithering idiot? I clearly stated, in the instructions, to only use one mandrake root, not two! And I was under the impression that this class would improve due to the removal of the most incompetent fool in the room; you prove me, for once, wrong, Mr Longbottom. You have taken the mantle of Bumbling Dunderhead from Mr Weasley's not long dead hands. How impatient of you." With this scathing remark he swept off, only to turn back when a loud explosion sounded from behind him. The room took a few seconds to clear the smoke, which was when the Potions Master realised Miss Granger had disappeared. Scowling to himself, he ordered the class to continue, ignoring the deadly look on Potter's face. Granger had more than enough skill in Potions for the Professor to know that was not an accidental explosion; it was a diversion and an escape route. The door slowly closed, and the Professor nodded at Potter._

_"Go after her, Potter, make sure she doesn't do anything reckless," Snape drawled._

_"What like completely insulting and degrading her only recently passed best friend? Oh don't you worry Professor, I have a heart and common sense; I wouldn't dream of it." And with that particular remark, poisonous enough to make Snape slightly proud – his influence was rubbing off on the Potter boy – Harry dashed off to find his devastated friend. He had seen her tears through the smoke, being next to her as he was, and knew where to find her. ___

__It was stupid that she kept herself living in Potions alone, but she did it. This was helped by the ever-remaining morbid curiosity about the Potions Master teaching her N.E.W.T level work. Not that she needed it; she had studied this level since her fourth year, one of the reasons why her teachers let her remain comatose in their lessons. Even so, even in potions she could not conjure up the living spark she used to have in her eyes. This worried the man more than he would ever let on._ _

__Harry did not know what to do about Hermione; while she was slipping further and further into morose depression she had nothing to do with him. Of course at first she made the effort, but after a while she didn't make an effort for anything, not even him. Especially not him. She regularly disappeared for nights on end or was found in the library just staring off into space, but she never talked to him about it. Sometimes, in a selfish way, Harry got annoyed at Hermione. Ron was his best friend too! Ron had been his best friend for longer than Hermione, Ron had been closer to him than Hermione. But in truth most of the time Harry was jealous. Hermione was allowed to grieve for her best friend while Harry had to brave the world and put on the face of being strong, being the pillar of strength for the Wizarding Community that Ron had been to Harry; that Hermione had been to them both. Harry had to pretend he did not care about the death of Ron Weasley; that his murder was for the greater good. No one understood that Harry didn't want to treat him as collateral damage; no one understood that Harry wanted the chance to grieve with the rest of Ron's friends and family. But no. The Great Harry Potter was not affected by the deaths of his minions; Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, thought that for the greater good, it didn't matter if one insignificant little boy died for the cause. It made him sick._ _

__Hermione had slipped so far away from him, so far into herself, she didn't even bother with Potions anymore. That earned her a trip to McGonagall, and several detentions, not to mention a severe docking of House Points from Gryffindor. Hermione didn't care. She sat through it all, blankly, only repeating in her head the funeral march she had played every night to herself. If anyone took a glance into her mind, they would think she had gone insane. She hadn't, the brilliance was still there, concealed under a layer of self preservation, but the repetitive drone of the march overshadowed her genius and at the same time gave her a reason to continue living. These errant thoughts graced her mind with their presences they were soon chased out again by the march._ _

__Once again Severus Snape struggled through the halls, when he heard Miss Granger's music. This music, though, was different. This music was music drenched in death, in pain, in sorrow. This was Ronald Weasley's funeral march. Snape only knew because he was in attendance as not only a teacher of Ron's, but as a member of the Order. It was a terrible piece of music, one that ate at the soul, and the emotion with which it was played wrenched Severus Snape's hidden heart into existence. He ignored his pain and went towards the noise – it was not sound, or song, it was noise – and found Miss Granger's usual room, her usual seat next to her usual piano, but the tears rolling down her face were far from normal. The hunched posture as she played was far from her usual proud, smart stance. Her harsh gasps of breath were not the normal Granger way. Something in Severus made him step into the room, ignoring all thoughts of reason and logic, and Snape, instead becoming Severus, becoming a concerned young man who had stumbled upon a distraught woman. It wasn't hard to do seeing as it was the truth, but still._ _

__"Miss Granger?" His uncertainty at being nice made her name into a question. There was no change in her at all, so Severus moved round her to stand in front of the piano. She stared with blank eyes, playing the incessant music over and over. "Miss Granger. Hermione?" At the sound of her first name dripping silkily off Professor Snape's tongue she looked up at him, eyes still dead but with a certain air of awareness about her. "Please stop playing, Hermione." It felt odd saying her name but it was what kept her focus on him so it was what he would do. "Hermione, I would like you to take your hands off the keys and walk over to me please." She did what was asked and Severus quickly transfigured the ghastly piano into a sofa. He guided her to sit down, appalled when she broke down in his arms._ _

__"It's my fault, we had an argument and he went off and it's my fault. I shouldn't have argued with him and now he's dead. It's all my fault and now I'm killing Harry too and I cant stop." She gasped, sobbing relentlessly. Severus held her tightly, unable to comfort her yet strangely unwilling to let go. These feelings were as sudden as a stunning charm on a man with his back turned, but they were overwhelmingly strong and he had no intention of letting them go._ _

__"Hey, hey, what do you mean you're killing Harry? Are you poisoning him?" She shook her head feebly. "Are you slowly stabbing him to death?" he asked. Again, she shook her head. "So you aren't killing him. And were you the one that threw the curse that killed Mr Weasley?" She mumbled, no. "Well you didn't kill him did you? Bellatrix Lestrange killed your friend, no one is killing Harry that we know of. You have every right to mourn your loss but sitting here and destroying yourself is not the way to do it now, is it?"_ _

__"No, but I should be helping Harry, not wallowing. I'm pathetic." She whispered, not removing her hands from where they rested grasping fistfuls of his cloak, or her head from his shoulder. This comment infuriated him._ _

__"Why should you not be allowed to mourn? Why should you have to discard Mr Weasley just to be the backing of Potter? Surely after sixteen years he has some sense of maturity and self preservation by now, though we are talking about a Potter here..." Snape trailed off, conscious of the lessening tears and softening breath. He pulled the girl away from him and observed her, watched as she relaxed and fell in a slumber. He decided leaving her on this sofa; it would be the best for her. Besides he needed to get back to his chambers quickly to heal his wounds. He started to extract his teaching cloak from her hands when her eyes shot open. They were wild, and afraid._ _

__"Don't leave me! Please, please don't leave me..." She sobbed, getting just as distraught as she was before he calmed her. She dug her head into his chest, right on a particularly tender bruise. Snape hissed, and she drew back in shock. "Oh! Sorry! What did I do? I'm sorry..." Looking closely at his face, Hermione saw he had, again, various cuts and bruises over his face and certainly ones under his robes._ _

__"It's nothing, really. I was just... I should be going, I was going to leave you to sleep here, because you seem exhausted. I didn't know you were still awake. I really should be going, can you find your way back to your common room? I need to be off." He made to leave again, but she stopped him._ _

__"It is obviously not nothing, Professor. Can I help you? I won't ask questions, just let me heal you?"_ _

__"Well well, Miss Granger, I do not believe for a second that you won't ask questions. That would defeat the purpose of an insufferable know-it-all, now wouldn't it?" He remarked dryly. Chuckling, he winced as his ribs moved too much. This caused Hermione to reach out hesitantly in concern. For some reason she was unnecessarily drawn to the Potions Master, felt an undeniable urge to help him. It was strong and just helped further her interest in the solitary man. He had, without meaning to, drawn her a tiny bit out of her depression._ _

__"I can assure you, professor, any questions I may have about the cause of your injuries, and I assure you I have many questions, will be held back. Think of this as a payment for... uh... telling me its not my fault. All that stuff. Ok? I'll just be doing you a favour and clearing up a debt." Reluctantly, he nodded. Hermione drew her wand and began healing the bruises and cuts on his face. Inside she was dying with curiosity but she kept her face calm. Once done, she stopped, biting her lip. "Umm, Professor?" Snape opened his eyes. He had been resting temporarily while Miss Granger had been healing the superficial injuries on his face but she was suddenly unsure._ _

__"Ah. This is fine, thank you Granger. However this does not change the situation in class. We will proceed as always. Good night, Miss Granger." Getting up, Severus Snape walked away._ _

__Hermione did not know what to think. She had just healed the most hated professor in the entire school. She had just cried on his shoulder. He had just consoled her as she cried._ _

__What had happened to the world?_ _


End file.
